


The Proper Apocalypse: Ye Saga Continues

by WalamaCada



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalamaCada/pseuds/WalamaCada
Summary: After the almost Apocalypse, the world is fixed for the most part, and the ex-antichrist can safely be out of the picture while only having to worry about his small world. As for Heaven and Hell, however, nothing's been resolved. The world still has to end, and both sides are anxious for a final showdown, the great war to determine which side will win. Which means that they need another plan, another person to bring about the end of the world. Just like the first Apocalypse, this story starts with a child...





	The Proper Apocalypse: Ye Saga Continues

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction so please be gentle. This is meant to be a continuation of Good Omens, and I'm mostly basing it off of the show as I'm still in the process of re-reading the book and I honestly don't think I could emulate the writing style of the book if I tried. Enjoy!

It was almost three years after the world failed to end when Heaven and Hell decided, almost simultaneously, that Armageddon needed to restart itself as soon as possible. As rough as it had been convincing ten thousand angels and ten thousand demons to lay down their weapons, there was still an impending sense of a much needed war. Things still hadn’t been settled after all. 

In the end, it turned out that the traitors had been right. Not about the world not needing to end, because that very much still needed to happen, but rather about the Almighty’s plan being written somewhere else. Somewhere they hadn’t looked just yet. Three years after the almost-apocalypse and they once again had enough reason and enough of a Great Plan to begin the end of the world once more. 

Michael was the one in charge of the project, as she was the one who had access to inaccessible and non-existent back channels. It took several phone calls from the rarely-visited places in Heaven to convince Lord Beelzebub that she was trustworthy. She was an angel after all. And besides, the Almighty's Great Plan had been found, and didn’t they want to settle things once and for all? Even the score, figure out who would come out on top? As a bonus, they could even get rid of the traitors Crowley and Aziraphale, the ones who had thwarted everything the last time. It would take some doing of course, given everything that had gone down the last time they had attempted to get rid of them, but it was like a thorn in the sole of their foot for both sides. If it could be taken care of they would all sleep better, so to speak. It took time for both sides to be in agreement with each other, but this really was the best thing for everyone. The world would end properly this time, they would make sure of it. 

The true Apocalypse begins with a child, as it did the last time around, but this child was not of Hell, and they were not entirely of Heaven either. The Great Plan called for a union that would have been unthinkable at any other time but, if it meant that the last great war would come sooner, well. . .then it just had to be done. 

Despite it being a part of the Great Plan, it was still difficult finding volunteers. Angels and Demons alike would probably rather have done literally anything other than have, er, intimate relations with the Opposition. Even if it did mean bringing about the end of the world. Creating a Nephalem required two willing parties however, and with enough persuasion and another few months of waiting, both Heaven and Hell had found their candidates. 

There’s something you must understand about history, and about the nature of people regardless of whether or not they are entirely human. You see, history has a way of repeating itself in odd and often complicated ways. We can’t always see it right away, especially if we don’t know what went wrong the first time, but here’s a hint: Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t realize they had the wrong boy until the wrong boy turned eleven. Realizations of this magnitude, when it’s concerning the end of the world, take time.

After the child was born, and it didn’t take very long in the grand scheme of things, both sides reasoned that the child would have to be raised evil if they were going to bring about the end of the world. The Heavenly parent was quite relieved when they could get out of the picture so easily, and admittedly somewhat disappointed that it was the Hellish side of the family, so to speak, that would be raising the child. They were only a babe after all. Newborn children have quite a lot of potential to be shaped into something good as they grow up. But it was the End of the World that was at stake, so the Heavenly parent resigned to seeing the child for all of five minutes before putting themself on the sidelines and being almost, but not entirely, forgotten. 

The child was raised on earth, in the seaside town of Brighton, right on the very outskirts of the housing area in a small house with a small garden and a well-sized tree in the backyard. The demon called herself Jazz Gardener while she was on earth raising the next bringer of the Apocalypse. Her full first name was Jasmine, after a flower she had taken a liking to, and Gardener was mostly on random chance, since the house she had picked just happened to have a garden and it wasn’t that hard to make plants grow. If any of the neighbors came asking, she would simply offer them a basket of vegetables and shoo them away. She wasn’t all that fond of people to be quite honest. They always had too many questions. 

The child had been named Azazel. It was a good name, with just a little bit of evil and more than a spoonful of good, perfectly balanced in all it’s influences. Michael had come up with it, however, which meant that Jazz automatically hated it. All of those stuffy angels had a holier-than-thou attitude that was a little too much for a demon to handle. Well, most of them did anyway. She supposed there were a few she could stand, given the right circumstances. Jazz resolved to call the child Hazel for short. It sounded close enough.

Heaven and Hell simply had to wait at this point. Two decades to be precise. Two decades and then the world would end. Properly this time. 

. . . . .

The house was small, only one story tall with the barest inkling of an attic at the top. A white fence covered in vines of jasmine and a small white gate that creaked as it swung open into an overgrown garden area that barely stayed off the path leading to the front door. The house had a quaint little porch with hooks to hang potted plants from, with vines of jasmine that were determinedly crawling up to the roof. The building was painted a light green with dark blue trim, and it fit in nicely with the other quaint little houses nearby. This would change as soon as Jazz had a moment to herself.

The woman walking down the path to her new residence was tall and lithe, and she had a certain way of carrying herself that told of certain doom to anyone who tried anything she didn’t like. She had frizzy black hair that was barely contained with a blue bandanna and she wore loose, comfortable clothing. Not exactly something a demon would be expected to wear, certainly, but she claimed it was to fit in among humans. More to the point, nothing about her looked particularly demonic. No horns, no weird warts or pustules, no slimy creatures permanently attached to her head like other demons tended to have. The only thing even remotely off about her were her eyes, which were a deep red, but any sane persons who got close enough to see her eyes always convinced themselves that they were simply brown, nothing unusual about them. That was just how humans worked really, explaining things away in a normal fashion so that anything abnormal could be safely ignored. 

There was a jacket tied around her waist and a sensible backpack on her back, filled to the brim with things that would be at least somewhat helpful. There was also a basket in her hand. Something inside it was moving.

She set down the basket, brought a key out of her pocket, and began unlocking the front door. It was one of those doors that you wouldn’t entirely expect to be a front door, the kind where the top and the bottom of the door can be swung open separately. Some of the paint was peeling off. The door swung open, and she grabbed the basket and went inside. 

The first thing she did was set the basket down on the counter. The thing inside was still wiggling in the way that human babies tend to do when they’re trying to figure out what’s going on around them. Despite the thing in the basket being not at all human, it was slightly endearing. Jazz tossed her backpack on the couch and took off her shoes. When she turned back to the counter, a steaming cup of coffee was waiting for her. She hadn’t picked up many human tendencies, like eating or sleeping, but coffee was something that she enjoyed. And honey. She rather liked honey. 

The house was barely furnished, but it was enough to be comfortable and not too much that Jazz wouldn’t find it frustrating. She despised clutter. There was a dark blue couch facing the back wall, which had a brick fireplace and a sliding glass door that led out into the backyard, which was just as overgrown as the front yard was. A small coffee table was in front of the couch, and a small round side table was to the right of it. On the other side of the wooden counter that the basket was currently on was a kitchen area, fully furnished with a stove top, a pristine white fridge, several cupboards and drawers that already contained the things necessary to cook things with, and a sink that was just under a curtained window. Several bar stools were tucked underneath the counter and out of the way. There were hooks by the door for coats and things and two windows looking into the front garden, one from the kitchen and the other from the living room. 

Opposite the kitchen were three doors, two of them leading into rooms that could be turned into bedrooms or office areas, and the third leading into a gleaming white bathroom. Jazz had already discovered a rope dangling from the ceiling in the left room that, when pulled, revealed a ladder that led to the attic. The attic had been dusty since the house had been built, with many spiders and other crawling things making their home there. The attic and all the bugs within had been very confused to find that all of the dust and cobwebs had vanished as soon as Jazz had poked her curly head in. 

The house was extremely clean, which was how Jazz liked it. And a few miracles in the span of a single month to keep it clean would definitely go unnoticed, even if that habit continued for several years. The garden she would have to take care of and put to use, but that particular task could use a little more hands-on type of work. It might be suspicious if her garden miraculously started looking pristine and orderly with the neighbors not having seen her in the garden once. As soon as she got settled, and figured out what to do with the thing in the basket, she would take care of the weeds and plant some things that she liked in neat, orderly rows. She would keep the jasmine growing wild, though. She liked it best when it was wild. 

It was at this moment, when she was sipping her coffee and trying very hard to think about anything that didn’t involve the thing-in-the-basket that the thing-in-the-basket began to cry. 

She set her coffee down and turned to look at it. It was small, and rather pitiful, and it didn’t look anything like the unthinkable result of an unthinkable union. It definitely didn’t look like something that would end the world and bring about the last great war. It looked. . .well, it looked human. But looks can be deceiving, Jazz knew that better than anyone else. 

She carefully picked up the thing-in-the-basket and held it like she had seen other people hold babies. She had yet to start calling it Hazel, or really by anything else other than Basket Thing, and she was adamantly refusing to call the child by their given name. The thing stopped crying and looked up at her with extremely normal, almost human-looking green eyes. It reached out a chubby hand to tug on a loose black curl. And then it giggled.

Jazz considered what she was doing for perhaps the first time since this had all began. Creating something, that had been easy. She had hardly even needed to think about it, even if in the process of creating the thing she had had to work with an angel. It was the after bit that she had refused to think about till just now. The bit about the plan where she actually had to raise the damn thing. She wasn’t nurturing at all—it simply wasn’t in her nature. She had seen other people raising children in passing, but she had never been involved in the process, and it had to be more than just cleaning it and feeding it and making it go to sleep, or else she figured that it just wouldn’t turn out right.

She really had no idea what she meant by that, and considering that she was being asked to raise the baby evilly anyway, she didn’t suppose it would make much of a difference if she did it wrong. Still. . .the child was so small, and her eyes were so green. . .  
Jazz took both the baby and her cup of coffee over to the couch very carefully and set the baby on her lap when she was seated comfortably. Another sip of coffee before she set the mug on the coffee table and gave her full attention to the babe in her lap. 

“You don’t look like much of an Azazel, do you?” she murmured softly. Any louder and she feared she would break this quiet moment. She took the babies small hands in her own larger ones and waved them back and forth a bit. The baby stared at her and gurgled. It was almost unnerving.

“I know your eyes are green, but I think Hazel suits you better, don’t you? And besides, it’s close enough to your actual name that I probably won’t get complaints.” Hazel giggled once more and reached for Jazz’s long black hair.

Jazz smiled and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead. She could raise her for a couple decades, she reasoned. It probably wouldn’t be that difficult of a thing to do. And it would be nice to have a child around with green eyes, rather than demonic ones. Green like her garden.


End file.
